


Blood and Sand

by Chinita52



Series: SWTOR: The Eight Sisters [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-09-23 06:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chinita52/pseuds/Chinita52
Summary: Darth Imperia's rise to the Dark Council was far from easy.  Her tenure on the council will not be either.  Right from her days as a slave she has been abused, betrayed, and nearly driven to insanity in her quest for survival in the cutthroat world of the Sith.The story of Bezedhasia, my Sith Inquisitor.





	1. The Most Beautiful One

Bezedhasia never had a last name- slaves never did.  All her life had been spent in servitude, and she was only fortunate enough to have been brought up in a decent Korribani household that treated her relatively well, taught her to read, and had given her an ancient Sith name that translated roughly to "Most Beautiful."  By the time she had turned six, however, the head of the family had perished, the estate was left with growing debts, and she was sold to an Imperial shipyard, where she spent most of her time crawling in tiny crevices and tunnels to repair and clean things that a normal adult was too big to reach.  Being covered almost constantly in a thick layer of grease, dirt, and grime, the meaning of her name became ironic.

Eventually the young slave grew too large to do the jobs she had once been valued for.  Beyond that, she had begun to develop a slender yet distinctly womanly figure, and with her enticingly pale skin, thick brown waves of hair, uncommonly blue eyes, and delicate facial features, it was decided she would be worth more in a cleaner, more domestic setting.  By the time she was fourteen, she had been sold to a Sith lord and sent to staff her ship, where her duties included serving food and drink, cleaning and mending the Sith's robes, and providing entertainment to any guests, which were never lacking.  The saying that no one knows how to party like a Sith hadn't sprung from nowhere, though even by Sith standards Bezedhasia's master was considered to be exceptional in her frivolity.  Her ship saw many of the grandest parties in the Empire on a nearly weekly basis, and at times even more than that, with the guest list usually including the highest ranking Sith and Imperial leaders who found themselves on or near Korriban at the time.  The master always made sure Bezedhasia would serve these guests of note in the most revealing (and at times humilliating) dresses, leaving little to the imagination, though at the very least the ensemble never included a shock collar.

It was at one of these fantastical events that Bezedhasia found herself waiting on a few members of the Dark Council.  Among them was a Sith much older than her with greying hair and a scar-like tattoo over one of his eyes that had caught her attention, in part due to a certain attractiveness the man possessed, but also due to his level of intoxication.  Normally cool and composed, he had become loud, boisterous, and clumsy, more so than his companions.  She kept a trained eye on him, knowing it would be her responsibility to care for him if he became ill or incapacitated, but her concentration was broken when the glass he had been holding in his hand suddenly flew in her general direction.  She closed her eyes and raised her hands as if to brace for the impact, but when neither an impact nor the sound of glass shattering ever came, she opened her eyes to find the glass floating less than half a meter from her face, held in place as if by some invisible hand.  She realized it was her own will that had stopped it, and was surprised to find that with concentration she could will it to meet her hand.

"Why, look at that!  A Force-sensitive slave!" one of the Sith said.  "And a human no less!"  She froze in fear at the realization that the entire group's eyes were now focus on her.

"Beautiful little thing," another Sith commented.  "What a pity she's only a slave."

"Well, she is here for our entertainment," the Sith with the tattoo said.  He began approaching her menacingly, a twisted grin on his lips.  Her eyes widened with fear, and her heart began beating furiously.  "I want to have some fun with you, slave.  Run, little girl.  Run, and perhaps I'll leave that pretty body unscathed."

She didn't hesitate.  She ran like she had never run before, as if an army's supply of adrenals were coursing through her veins, and she somehow found the energy to run faster still at hearing the sound of the Sith's lightsaber ignite.  Down corridors and stairs she ran, deep into the belly of the ship where the slaves' quarters were, and into her own small, bare room she ran, locking the door behind her.  But it only worked to slow the Sith.  Soon she saw the tip of his saber pierce the metal door and proceed to cut through the lock.  The door opened, and he grinned, knowing full well he had her cornered.

She trembled in terror as he stepped towards her, wincing at the sound of every heavy footstep.  Her pulse was frighteningly fast, as was her breath, and her head was beginning to feel light.

"There's nowhere left to run, slave.  I've won," he purred arrogantly.  The girl closed her eyes, expecting his saber to end her life there.  It wouldn't be the first time a slave had been murdered by a Sith for sport.  But instead of striking her down, he laughed.  "Such fear and curiosity within you!  I could sense the way you were looking at me."

"Please, my lord," she whimpered, "don't kill me."

"Oh, I won't.  Not yet."  Summoning the Force, he pushed her onto the threadbare bed that stood between her back and the wall.  She was immobilized, she realized.  He must have been using his powers to hold her down.  "So many others have accosted you and touched you, haven't they?  But none have ever gone any further than that.  They've left you with so much curiosity.  I know you wanted me to satisfy you with answers."  As he drew closer, the alcohol in his breath became stronger and stronger, making Bezedhasia feel sick to her stomach.  He took off his gloves and dropped them by his side, then laid one hand on her thigh.  She let out a cry when he suddenly began to tear through the tight, short dress her master had forced her to wear.  The Sith's grin widened when he realized there was nothing underneath it but soft, bare flesh.

"Please, just let me go!" she begged, but to no avail.  There was a fire in the Sith's orange eyes that only burned brighter with her every protest.  She shuddered as she heard his belt fall to the ground, followed by the unzipping of the trousers underneath his robes. 

"You wanted this, slave," he whispered.  "You wanted me."

And then he entered her.  Violently.  The bleeding he had caused between her legs, the screams of pain she let out, the tears in her eyes- they only seemed to encourage him.  She tried so desperately to fight back, but he was far too strong.  Eventually she gave up, closing her eyes and silently begging for the end to come swiftly.

And swiftly it came.  Suddenly Bezedhasia heard the sound of another lightsaber ignite.

"Get off of her!" a powerful female voice ordered.  The Sith stood up and turned to face the intruder- a young female Sith wielding a double-bladed saber with deep violet blades.

"Apprentice Acina!" he greeted her with a twinge of sarcasm in his voice.  "I didn't realize your master had brought you along.  Do put your lightsaber away before you do something regrettable.  No one will ever respect an apprentice who struck down a Dark Council member over a slave."

"And no one will ever respect a Dark Council member who raped a helpless slave and considered it a great conquest," she retorted.  "Leave the girl alone, or I shall leave you without your manhood so you'll have to explain your shameful behavior to your fellow Sith upstairs, along with every single woman you try to bring to your bed."

"Very well," he responded with a sigh.  He began to dress himself again, as if nothing in the slightest had occurred.  "But know this: Sith do not favor spoil-sports."

"Get out!" Acina growled.  "Now!"  The elder Sith slinked out, smirking at both the slave and his fellow Sith as he made his exit.  As soon as he was sufficiently far enough down the corridor, the young woman deactivated her saber.

"Thank you," Bezedhasia muttered, unsure of what else to say in her shock.

"You're hurt," Acina noted.  She helped the young slave onto her feet and removed her own outer robes to cover her.  "Let me take you to the medbay."

"Thank you," Bezedhasia repeated.  "I don't deserve such mercy from you, my lord."

"Oh, don't give me that grovelling nonsense!  I'm not one of those arrogant, brutish lords.  Not yet, at least.  Even if you are a slave, you are still a living, breathing person and a child of the Empire who has committed no crime, and in my book that's enough to protect you from such senseless violence."

"I wish more felt that way.  I've seen too many slaves die for the entertainment of Sith on this ship."

"A waste of resources, if you ask me.  What's your name, girl?"

"Bezedhasia.  It's not my birth name, but it's the only one I know."

"Ah, an ancient Sith name.  'Most beautiful,' if I'm not mistaken in my translation.  Quite fitting, if I may say so."

"You flatter me."  The slave cast her gaze downwards and blushed at the compliment.  "What do they call you?"

"They call me Acina.  I'm sure it must mean something in some language, though I've never been made aware of what."  Bezedhasia giggled a bit at this, putting a smile on Acina's face.

They chatted casually until they reached the ship's medbay, where a medical droid quickly attended to Bezedhasia's wounds and injected her with an emergency contraceptive and anti-infection agent.  Acina held her hand the entire time, comforting her in a way she had become unaccustomed to after so many years of forced servitude.  There was warmth there.  A smile, a reassuring voice.  Things she wasn't used to anymore.

When all was said and done, Bezedhasia was ordered to spend the night recuperating under close observation in the medbay.

"I must return to my master," Acina said to her as she settled into one of the stark medical beds.  "Will you be alright if I leave you now?"

"Yes," she responded.  "Thank you so much for everything."

"I could have done no less!" Acina remarked.  She began to head towards the door, but turned around for a final farewell.  "Perhaps our paths will cross again, Bezedhasia."

"Perhaps they will.  Goodbye, Acina."

"Goodbye," Acina replied.  "Be safe."

Years later, Bezedhasia would recall this evening as one of the most significant in her path to becoming Darth Imperia.  It was the night that womanhood was violently thrust upon her and she was left with scars that would remain within her for the rest of her life.  It was the night she met the woman who would someday become Empress of the Sith and play a larger role in her life than she could have ever imagined.  It was the night her master realized the power within her slave, and began teaching her to harness it.  Years later, not long after the Sith began recruiting slaves to join their ranks, the same master would decide that that very power would best be put to the test in the academy on Korriban.  Either she would become Sith and earn her freedom, or she would perish in the struggle.


	2. The Academy

An uneasy calm domineered over the shuttle carrying the new recruits to the Sith academy.  The silence was only filled by the hum of the engines as they sped through the atmosphere towards the barren surface of the Sith homeworld.  Bezedhasia, ever observant, took close note of her companions on the voyage: a few large, muscular brutes of little note that appeared to have more brawn than brain, a young redheaded girl about her own age who seemed more frightened than anything, and a pureblood Sith whose arrogance penetrated the air like a toxic fume.  She wondered how many of them had been slaves like herself, and how many of them would live to become more than nameless victims of the academy's cruelty, among other things.  The only friendly one seemed to be the timid redhead.  She seemed out of place.  Bezedhasia gave her a reassuring smile to ease her nerves, if even for a moment.

Having sat in the back of the transport, Bezedhasia was the next to last off the ship.  She stood on the landing platform for a few moments to take in her new surroundings- vaguely familiar due to her early years having been spent on this world, and yet so foreboding.  At the very least the sun felt pleasant on her face after the years she had spent in the darkness of the shipyards and the cold of space.  But her thoughts were interrupted when the pureblood, in what seemed an attempt to assert his own dominance, ran into her shoulder as he passed.  She wanted to hurl an insult, but kept it to herself, noting his appearance, tastes in clothing, and mannerisms so that she could even the score at some other time that suited her more.   After fuming to herself for a few moments more, she rejoined the group she had come with.

"Ah, the last one to arrive is finally here," a rather pretentious Sith said as she came closer.  She was decidedly annoyed by both his appearance and his voice.  He was slightly shorter than average and rather muscular, but what drove her mad was the single patch of reddish brown hair on his chin that he had slicked down into something resembling a rusted spike, as well as the red tattoo that went around his eye and up to a point just above his nose.  "It would be a shame if freedom went to your head, or if you somehow got the idea you didn't have to pass your trials to become Sith.  Lord Zash has tasked me with sorting through you refuse to find one worthy of being her apprentice, and I intend to do just that."

"Don't get all sentimental on us," Bezedhasia quipped with an eyeroll.  "We've only just met."  Harkun, as she would later learn to be his name, was not amused, but she continued to give off a false bravado as a way of defending herself.  She combated insults with sarcasm and dry humor, if only so she could at least play the role of the powerful, arrogant Sith until she became one.

She completed her assignment with ease, much to Harkun's disdain.  He seemed to hate everyone he came across, though there was significantly more hate directed towards her in particular.  She hated him just as much when he killed the poor redheaded girl she had liked so much, though she understood this was simply the Sith way.  There would be no failures, only the successful and the dead.

That night, Bezedhasia barely slept.  It was the usual case whenever she was in a new place, but even more so in a place as cold and cruel as the academy.  Early that morning, she found herself wandering the halls, mindful to not disturb anyone who may have been sleeping or run into anyone who was also awake at such a lonely hour.  Without the imposing presence of Sith lords or the threatening looks of rival acolytes to fill the halls, she realized the Sith Academy was a rather lovely place, somber and refined with its towering ceilings and long corridors.  She could lose herself in its strange beauty.

"Slave!" she heard a voice call out from behind her suddenly.  Harkun.  Unmistakably Harkun.  "Turn and face me when I speak to you, slave!"

"Keep pushing me, Harkun.  With any luck, you'll live long enough to regret it," she taunted as she spun around, a mischievous grin on her lips.

"In my office, slave!" he barked.  "Now!  And wipe that smirk off your face, you foul scum!"  She rolled her eyes and turned towards the corridor that lead to the stark room where he spent the majority of his day.  Her brash facade held steadfast until the moment she heard Harkun activate the lock on the door behind her.  A lump began to form in her throat, and her palms began to sweat ever so slightly, though she dared not turn around to face him, not wanting him to see even the slightest hint of fear in her eyes.  "You've only been here one day, yet you seem to have already forgotten the humility a slave such as yourself is meant to have.  It disgusts me," he said.  "I should strike you down for such insolence."

"Poor Harkun," Bezedhasia said mockingly.  "You don't have the guts to try it, do you?"

"You've only survived this long because you passed your first trial, but if you continue with that attitude, your successes won't save you," he sneered.  Suddenly she realized his eyes had been trained on her, studying every detail of her body in a way that made her feel as though she were trapped prey being inspected by a predator before the kill.  He slowly drifted closer and closer from behind her, the energy radiating from him through the Force making her tense up.  But she refused to show him even the slightest bit of nervousness.  _Sith can smell fear_ , she reminded herself.  "You're a pretty thing.  Perhaps you have something to offer as an incentive for me to keep you alive."

"Oh, now I understand!" she said with a laugh as she turned around to face him.  "No one actually _wants_ to bed you, so you blackmail your students into it, is that it?  What a sad individual you are."

"Silence, slave!" he bellowed at her as he struck her with the back of his hand.  He then stretched out his fingers in front of him to summon the Force, and suddenly Bezedhasia found herself attempting to fight off unseen hands that were pushing her to her knees.  She strained to resist and gave an impressive effort in doing so, but it was futile, and soon she was prostrate before him, the mischievous glint in her eye long gone.  "Well, it appears you can learn after all," he said with a smirk.  "You're going to serve me if you want to have any hope of prolonging your useless life, slave."  She shuddered as he pushed down his trousers and grabbed her by the hair.  "Open your filthy mouth!"

 _No,_ she thought to herself,  _not again!  Force help me!_ No longer did she care to hide her fear.  She couldn't.  She was no longer the brash, fearless acolyte.  Once again she was that helpless slave girl at the mercy of a much more powerful Sith.  Once again she would be humiliated, even if he wouldn't leave the same physical scars.

Everything after that was a blur in her memory.  Mixed in with her successes in her trials were the late-night visits from the Overseer, the times he hid her under his desk so she could continue to pleasure him even when others were around, the bruises he left her with that no one questioned because the academy was such a cruel place.  Everything was a blur, at least until she met Zash.  Zash had been kind, kinder than anyone had been to her in years, and the warmth she brought into the room with her was enough to jolt Bezedhasia back into full consciousness.  Like the dawn puts a stop to nightmares, Zash put an end to her hopelessness- if only she could pass these trials, if only she could survive Harkun, she would finally be free, and this woman that actually respected and stood up for her would be her master.  Even if Harkun would stop at nothing to see that arrogant, pure-blooded bastard Ffon succeed, she knew if she did her part that Zash would be on her side.

And Zash did pull through.  After the final trial, when Ffon had attempted to take credit for what Bezedhasia had accomplished, Zash killed him before launching a tirade at Harkun for assuming he knew better than her what sort of an apprentice she desired.  Bezedhasia beamed with pride and joy when Zash took her away from Harkun's clutches and lead her to her office.  Zash gave her her first lightsaber, the very one she had used herself when she too was an apprentice.  She wondered if her new master knew what this meant.  With this lightsaber, she would no longer have to fear being the victim of a more powerful Sith.  With Zash as her master, she would learn to fight back.  But she swore to herself not another man would lay a finger on her again without her permission, lest he risk feeling her blade through his belly.  From now own, Bezedhasia would be a name to fear.


	3. In the Shadows

Bezedhasia was beginning to live a better life than she could have ever imagined. Zash kept her busy, naturally, either sparring with her in one of the practice halls, teaching her history and Force theory, or sending her to the library for research. It was clear that Zash's young apprentice, though sneered at for having once been a slave, was quickly budding into a great Sith in her own right. She proved herself as skillful in combat as she was in academia, having soon published articles in some of the Empire's most prestigious holojournals. It was widely believed that so long as a dispute did not arise between master and apprentice, she might well be on track to become a Dark Council member. And on top of everything, she lived up to her name. While most eventually succumbed to the unfortunate physical effects of Dark Side corruption, she seemed to grow healthier, stronger, and ever more beautiful. Loss of limb was not uncommon for young suitors who tried and failed to win her over but remained overly persistent. Behind her back, this earned her a nickname: Bezedhasia the Haughty. She paid it no mind, however; none would ever win her over with sweet words and empty promises, nor with trinkets and baubles, and she was certainly never going to fall for anyone who couldn't see beyond her pretty face. At the end of the day, however, she found Dromund Kaas soothing, even if it was teeming with brash young Sith begging for her hand. Korriban had scorched her and the shipyards of her childhood had left her pale and sullen, but the Kaasian thunderstorms and torrents of rain that bothered or even scared others were a relaxing change of pace for her, and there seemed to be an occasional bit of clear skies and sun just when she needed it. Here the jungles, so expansive and dense, were alive in a way she had no idea was possible before. To read of such things was fascinating enough, but it could never compare to experiencing it in person, to feel so many creatures and people and plants through the Force and to understand how connected they all were.

One night Bezedhasia found herself wandering through the darkened corridors of the Citadel after a long night of research.  As she turned into a particularly dark passageway, she felt the presence of another Sith, causing her body to stiffen up and the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end.  Within moments, however, she could sense that it was not a threat.  In fact, the energy she felt was comforting in an odd sort of way, warm and inviting like the heat of a fire on a cold night.

"Who's there?" she called out into the darkness.  "I warn you, I'm armed, so don't try anything foolish."

"Ah, Zash's rising star," a man's rich, velvety voice purred from somewhere behind her.  "You are a spirited one.  It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Who are you?" she asked, frantically turning about to identify the source of the voice, but to no avail.

"Consider me a friend," the voice responded, this time alarmingly close behind her.  "One who wants to see you live up to your potential."  Something was happening to her as she listened to his hypnotic voice.  Her guard was down.  Her will was slowly slipping away.  She was so much calmer now.  Did she know that voice?  She tried to recall, but something was blurring her mind just enough to keep her from dwelling on the matter for too long.  One thought did manage to break through the fog, however: this was clearly a trick of the Force.

"What are you doing to me?" she demanded.

"You're trying to fight, but why resist?  I mean you no harm.  I simply want you to be comfortable so that we may talk in peace," the man responded, now so close that she could feel his hot breath on her neck.  "Relax, young apprentice.  Feel through the Force, know that I mean well, even if it goes against against your instincts."

"No games," she warned, though her voice was hardly threatening.  "What do you want?"

"I want you, quite simply."  She flinched slightly as a pair of arms embraced her and gently pulled her against the strange man's body, but realized that the sensation of her body pressed against his was absolutely wonderful.  He was substantially taller than her, quite muscular, by his scent very well-groomed, and something about being in his arms was comforting to her, for he was far gentler than she had expected.  She could have easily fought him off, and yet she didn't  _want_ to.   "I've had my eye on you since you came to Dromund Kaas, and never have I seen such a combination of beauty and skill.  Zash is a formidable master, but I strongly believe a young Sith of your talent deserves much better."

"What are you proposing?  That I rid myself of her?"  She could feel her defenses still being chipped away, her body growing more and more limp and his arms as his fingers gently traced her collarbone.

"Nothing of the sort, unless of course that's what you desire.  But I have so much more to offer you than she does.  Join me here in the shadows, and I shall teach you all the things she can't.  She won't have to know a thing."

"I'll consider it."

"That's all I ask for."

She felt his hand slide up her neck to her chin and allowed him to gently tilt her head back.  She must have been facing him, but she still saw nothing but darkness, and only felt the heat of his breath near her mouth.  He was drawing closer.  Slowly he brought his lips to hers and melted the last of her defenses with a deep, passionate kiss.  The taste of him enthralled and excited her like nothing else had before.  It awoke something deep inside her, some primeval instinct she never knew laid within her.  She desperately wanted more and kept her lips pressed against his for as long as he could.  But eventually he broke away, and with one swift motion, he then swept her into his arms and carried her to her quarters.  Gently he laid her upon her bed and kissed her one last time before turning to leave.

"Wait!" Bezedhasia called out.  "I don't even know your name."

"You may call me Teneb," the man responded.  And with that he was gone.  She couldn't even sense his presence anymore, let alone have any hope of seeing his face if she were to rush and turn on the light.  Just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.  As the fog lifted from her mind, she laid awake until morning, terrified by the implications of having been controlled in such a manner.

****

Zash was concerned when her apprentice arrived late to breakfast.  Unlike most Sith, she was rather maternal with those she trained.  She usually took her meals with her apprentice to make sure she was eating adequately and regularly.  While others might have seen this as coddling, she was wise enough to know that the strongest Sith were fit in both body and mind.  She was perfectly capable of being as tough as any other master, having sent Bezedhasia on a number of life-threatening missions that any other apprentice might not have survived, but once she took a worthy young Sith under her wing, it was her intention to keep that student alive until they had reached their potential.  If they died, it was always because of their own shortcomings or stupid decisions, not because she had given them a task that would mean certain death.

"You look like you've had a very long night, apprentice," she said as she picked at a plate of bantha bacon.  "I've never seen you arrive late to anything before."

"I stayed late at the library last night, master.  Please forgive me."

"You don't need to apologize, apprentice, but I do sense there's something more you're not telling me," Zash responded, eyebrows raised in concern.  "Whatever it is, you don't have to deal with it alone.  That's what I'm here for."  Bezedhasia looked emptily at her food, attempting to find the best way to express what it was that had happened.

"Something happened to me last night when I was heading back to my room," she began, her voice struggling to escape from her throat.  "I turned into a dark hallway and could sense someone there, but he moved around me like a ghost.  He did something to me that made me lower my guard, and he held me in his arms like I was just a doll.  He could have killed me, and I wouldn't have been able to stop him."  She finally broke, and for the first time cried in front of her master.  "I'm weak, master!  I couldn't stop him!"  Zash set down her utensils and rushed to her apprentice's side to console her with a tight embrace.

"This is very concerning, but the fault isn't yours, apprentice.  You're barely more than a child, you've still got so much to learn.  I still struggled to hold a lightsaber properly at your age!"

"Sith aren't meant to be this weak," Bezedhasia responded between sobs.  "Harkun was right about me.  I'm nothing but a weak slave!"

"That worm?  He'd have given the entirety of the Dark Council a difficult time if they had been his students.  It's his job to do that.  But you survived him, and I don't know a single Sith who wouldn't be happy to have you as their apprentice now that you've shown how much you're capable of."  She could feel her apprentice's tears soak through her robe and remembered having cried much in the same manner on many occasions when she too was a young apprentice, wishing someone had held and comforted her the way she held Bezedhasia now.  "All Sith start out with weaknesses, apprentice, but the essence, the very core of being Sith is the struggle to improve oneself.  Look at yourself and ask if you haven't been doing exactly that"

"I never want to feel that powerless again, master."

"I promise you won't.  That was a very particular type of mind trick, and I will teach you all I can about resisting them.  But I won't have you thinking you're inferior to any of these pure-blooded bastards who got into the academy because their whole family has been Sith for generations.  You're powerful, and you've done so much more than most your age.  Never, ever forget that."

It was remarkable to Zash how resilient this apprentice was.  After she had finished sobbing, she took a mere moment to recompose herself and continue with her breakfast, as well she should, given that it would soon be time to put their plan to assassinate Darth Skotia into action.  She wanted Bezedhasia to be more than prepared for the challenge, and without any distraction.

****

"Lord Zash!  How rare that you should stop in to visit.  To what do I owe the pleasure?" Darth Thanaton said with a markedly false pleasantness, though his surprise was genuine.

"Spare me, Thanaton.  You know why I'm here.  This certainly isn't out of any desire to socialize with you."

"I'm afraid I don't know, actually," Thanaton purred.  "And if I were you, I'd watch my tongue.  Respect for her superiors is the mark of a good Sith, Zash."

"That's amusing, given how you made your way up the ranks," Zash remarked.  "My apprentice, Thanaton.  I don't know what you're playing at, but I want you to stay away from her."

"That little slave girl you keep about?" he responded with a sneer.  "I can't stay far enough away from filth like that."  Zash let out a small, snide chortle.   _The audacity of this man,_ she thought to herself.

"Some man by the name of Teneb approached her and used a certain style of mind trick on her last night, one you and I both know you're all too familiar with.  He had his hands all over her like she was a toy.  If this happens again, don't think I won't make find a way to make you pay."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, Thanaton.  It's a promise."

"That's comforting, considering how wont you are to break them."

"Believe me, you don't want to test me on this."  She turned on a heel and stormed out the door.  "Good bye, Teneb Kel."

"Good bye, dear Zash."  

Had Zash turned around in that moment, she might have seen the grin on Thanaton's face.  It was unsettling, arrogant perhaps, but it might have told her far more than any words could have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not expecting this to take such a Phantom of the Opera-esque turn, but it sort of wrote itself that way. If it works, it works, I guess.


End file.
